attempt to not destroy the repose of household tones, RMS 1912
By Christin Call
mary had the white fleece. jason the gold.
and everywhere the two wouldst traipse,
there hilarity and dander surely foretold
the sepulcher of power placed in the hands of the white star line,
whose architects duly chucked 8 lifeboats from the deck
so to not assault the tender eyes of millionaires.
please, not another polar bear drowning with the iceberg.
please, won't jason and mary get together at the end of this story?
though one has the green horns of a schoolgirl, the other the claim
to the throne.
all we ask is that every moment carry the sublime currency of brilliance,
the scorching climax of asphyxiation, the tendon-tearing jaw of the
and his paw collapsing our chests to pigeon batting.
mary, in the early afternoon, on the weekend,
accidentally put on her apron. then, accidentally, the spoon
stirred the milk in the coffee. the cats were accidentally
sleeping in the foyer where a fishbone line of sun shaved its way through
that were unintentionally heavy. any moment the houses might
accidentally get wet, and, by accident, so would the streets, and without
the rain would bounce off leaftips, seep into the ground, and slide
the city planners accidentally improved some fifty years ago.